Solicitation
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: George Weasley fixes up his brother after an incident involving a sprained ankle. WARNING: Brothercest and MATURE ADULT CONTENT.


**Solicitation**

George stumbled and put a hand on the rough stone wall to keep them both from going down. Fred grunted and tightened his grip; George struggled for air for a moment until the arms around his waist relaxed.

"Sorry," George said. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I didn't step on it."

George shifted his grip on his brother's shoulder. "I'll be more careful. We're almost there."

Fred nodded and his hair tickled the underside of George's chin. He wished Fred would not hold him quite so tightly, but Fred had always been a bit clingy. Any excuse to snuggle was good enough for him. George normally pushed the prat away, but now he had no choice but to cling to him.

They had sneaked into Hogsmeade through the underground tunnel in order to restock their supplies at Zonko's Joke Shop. The trip was routine; they made it at least once every other month, despite scheduled Hogwart's outings. It was more fun to do it clandestinely, anyway. At least, normally it was. This time Fred had stumbled on the stairs leaving Honeydukes and twisted his ankle violently.

They had potions that would set Fred to rights in their room, since both of their Healing Charms were shite. If they could only get there. They reached the base of the uphill climb and Fred grimaced. Down was always easier than up, even without Fred's injury. He cast the spell that turned the stone slide into steps and then hoisted his brother onto the first. It was going to be a bloody long climb.

They were both drenched with sweat and wheezing like the Hogwarts Express by the time they climbed out from behind the statue of the one-eyed witch. Fred collapsed on the floor of the corridor while George cast a iLumos/i and had a look at the Marauder's Map.

"Coast is clear," he said and wiped his brow with one forearm. "We'd best get moving." It was just past one o' clock in the morning. They would get no sleep at all if they didn't hurry. There would be no sleeping in tomorrow with Quidditch practice.

"All right," Fred said tiredly, using the wall as support as he climbed to his feet —or foot, as Fred kept the right one suspended. George did not want to think about removing the shoe from his swollen ankle. They would deal with that when they got to it.

He kept the map in one hand and pulled his brother close again. Fred's face burrowed against his neck and breathed deeply. "You always smell good, Georgie."

"Shut up, you. You're only making nice so I'll carry you."

Fred snickered and his hot breath ghosted over George's skin, giving him a shiver. "Cold?" Fred asked.

"A bit chilled from the climb. Come on."

They half-walked, half-shuffled to the staircase that would take them to the upper levels and Gryffindor Tower, but George pulled them back against the wall and did another map check. "Shite!" George muttered. "Filch."

"Where?"

"Top o' the stairs. We could toss a dungbomb and draw him off, but that bloody cat would give us away."

"Should have bought that Peruvian Instant-Darkness Powder," Fred muttered.

"Wouldn't help. Cats see better in the dark and she can still smell us."

"We wait then?" Fred asked tiredly. George could hear the edge in his brother's voice and wondered if his ankle was broken instead of sprained. "Maybe Madam Pomfrey should look at you?" he suggested. The hospital wing was back the way they came on the same floor.

"No!" Fred said adamantly.

George sighed and scanned the map once more. What else was on the third floor? Trophy Room. Out. Charms Classroom. Out. He gasped as the perfect room revealed itself. He checked the dot marked Flich and Mrs Norris once more before pulling Fred away from the wall and back into towing position. "Let's go."

"Where to? Did Filch leave already?"

"No. Thought of someplace better. I don't want to climb all those bloody stairs anyway. Done enough climbing dragging your fat arse along."

"Hey! I'm not fat!" Fred protested and George shushed him as they hurried past the base of the stairs and ducked down a darkened hallway. After a short distance they came to a door that made Fred smack a fist into his chest. "McGonagall? Are you barmy?"

"She's gone, remember? Some emergency meeting with the Order of the Phoenix that we're not supposed to know about. She won't be back until Sunday night."

"What if she comes back unexpected?"

"When has she ever? You know how those stupid meetings go. They all sit around and blather just to hear themselves."

Fred nodded. "All right, but if we get caught and suspended, I'm—"

"Telling mum it was my idea," George finished. "Fine."

It took a bit of tricky spellwork to get the door unlocked, since McGonagall was no slouch in the magic department, but he and Fred had spent an extensive amount of time cracking locks and opening things. Eventually it gave way to their persistence.

George hauled Fred into the bedchamber and hoisted his brother onto the gold-toned mattress. The room was more gold that Gryffindor red, but her house allegiance was still more than obvious. Fred grinned. "Feels like Gryffindor Tower," he said.

George smiled back, but his attention was on Fred's shoe. "This will hurt," he said as he pulled the laces. Fred nodded and held his breath while George eased the shoe away and dropped it on the floor. He gently removed the sock and frowned when he saw the swollen, purpling flesh. "Bloody hell, Fred, you might have broken it. Are you sure—?"

"No hospital. Can't you fix it?" he asked imploringly.

George frowned. He hated it when Fred got that wheedling tone. He knew it was a complete put-on, and yet he could never refuse.

"Please?" Fred continued, sealing George's fate.

"All right. Damn you." He glared at his brother. "You are filthy. I think you should get in the bath while I see if I can find something to fix you up."

"What bath?" Fred asked.

George pushed away from the bed and opened doors until he found the Professor's private bathing chamber. It was nearly the size of the prefect's bath, except it was made of rose-coloured marble. Water already gleamed in the tub and George knelt to test it. Nicely hot. He wondered what spell kept it constantly warm. Several taps spewed a variety of suds. George returned to Fred.

"That bath," he said as though his brother had just asked the question. "Hurry up and I'll help you in there."

"Help me undress first?"

George rolled his eyes and poked at a headache growing near his temple. He wanted to argue, but knew it would take ages and he would lose. "All right. But you'd better help, lazybones."

"I will!" Fred dutifully began wriggle out of his jumper and George grabbed the arms to pull it over his head. Fred's hair crackled with static and George reached up to pat it down gently. Fred's blue eyes went soft and George felt a rush of tenderness that he masked by mussing Fred's hair with both hands.

"Prat," George said. "Undress yourself."

He turned away and pulled off his own jumper in order to examine the sleeves. They were edged with dirt from the secret passage. He thought his trousers might be ruined—there was a new tear just below his right knee. He would have to see if Angelina could repair it for him. He was shite at clothing repair.

"George?" Fred asked and he turned back to the bed to see his brother struggling to remove his swollen foot from the trouser leg. His skin looked too pale and his freckles stood out like bloody flecks on his face and chest.

"Hey!" George admonished and hurried back to push Fred's hands away. "Idiot! You'll make it worse." Fred sank back onto the bed with a sigh. The fact that he did not return a comment told George how much pain he suffered. He eased the trousers away from Fred's legs. "All right, come on now. Into the bath with you."

He moved to slide his arm beneath Fred's shoulders in order to lift him away from the bed. Fred's bare skin felt hot against his own and he made a mental note to find a potion for fever, as well. Fred draped himself over him and they shuffled to the bath chamber.

"Pants?" Fred asked at the edge of the tub and George blushed as he bent down to slide Fred's boxers over his arse and down his thin legs. He hid beneath the curtain of his hair to hide the blush and wondered at the cause. He had seen Fred naked a thousand times. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

Fred's raised foot extracted easily from the red boxers and George had to smile at the pattern. Tiny golden kittens cavorted there, although Fred insisted they were lion cubs. George preferred solid colours, which made it easy to tell their undergarments apart.

George eased his brother into the hot water and felt somewhat better at Fred's sight of bliss. "I'll be right back," he said and hurried off to find a remedy.

He returned to find Fred back on the bed, hair wet and slicked back. A thick towel wrapped around his waist, but water still gleamed in beads on his chest and arms. The towel was a bizarre imitation of Fred's boxers—the same red trimmed in gold. McGonagall seemed slightly obsessed with Gryffindor colours.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" George demanded as he dropped his parcels on the edge of the bed.

"You took forever. Where did you go?"

George sighed as he reached into a leather bag he had nicked from its place near the door. He had gone to the hospital wing and searched through Pomfrey's stores for suitable items. Luckily, there seemed to be no patients needing round the clock care and Pomfrey had been safely asleep in her room.

Still, the return trip had taken longer than expected when bloody Filch had decided to roam the corridor outside the ward. George had nearly lost patience and stepped out the hex the bastard and his stupid cat when Filch had wandered away.

"Sorry. Let's get you wrapped up." George extracted an Osteopoultice and began to wrap it around Fred's wounded ankle. He knew from experience that it would quickly heal any fracture and reduce the swelling. If the ankle was broken… Well, they would find out soon enough the moment Fred tried to stand on it.

When Fred was wrapped from mid-foot to knee, George sat back and surveyed his work. Fred made a sound of approval. "Nice work, brother. You'll make a fine medi-witch one day."

"Fuck off, you. And drink this." George pulled the cork from an ugly-looking green potion and handed it to Fred, who wrinkled his nose.

"Urgh! Not that one!"

"Yes, that one. You know it deadens the pain."

"As well as my taste buds. It tastes like shite."

"Eaten shite before, have you?"

"Shut up. I don't want it."

"Don't make me wrestle you down and pour it down your throat. Besides, last time you said it makes you feel drunk."

"Well, yeah, the after-effects are bearable. Got any sweets to kill the taste?"

George sighed and rummaged in his personal pouch until he found a bar of fruit-dotted chocolate. He dangled it before Fred, but snatched it away before his brother could snatch it. "Potion first."

Fred glared, but obediently upended the potion and gulped it down. His face turned slightly green and George felt his gorge rise in sympathy when Fred made a gagging motion and then shuddered violently. He tore at the wrapping and then quickly shoved a bit of chocolate into Fred's mouth. His brother chewed quickly and swallowed. George followed it with a second piece.

"Better?" he asked and Fred nodded. His eyes were closed and he settled back against the pillows.

"Better. Thanks, Georgie."

He smiled and tousled Fred's damp hair before arranging it artfully with his fingers. He loved to touch his brother's hair and always spent and insane amount of time brushing it. When it fluffed gently against Fred's brows he noticed blue eyes watching him. "I'll comb it when I get out of the bath."

Fred nodded and shut his eyes once more.

George rushed his bath. It felt incredible to scrub off the sweat and grime, but he was worried about Fred. Osteopoultice typically took thirty minutes before having a visible effect on an injury. If the swelling did not lessen, George was dragging his brother to see Madam Pomfrey no matter what.

He grabbed a red towel and rubbed his hair vigorously for a moment before wrapping it around his waist and striding out. He thought he had spotted a comb on McGonagall's dressing table earlier.

George stopped short and stared at Fred. His brain seemed to have seized up for a moment and it took him some time to force words through his frozen vocal cords. "What are you doing?" he rasped.

"Wanking," Fred said matter-of-factly. His right hand continued to slide up and down his cock in slow movements. The towel lay open, completely exposing Fred to George's shocked gaze.

"Why?" he managed.

Fred grinned lazily. "To have a story for later, of course. I plan to have a laugh every time I see McGonagall."

George nodded and turned away, but the image of Fred seemed fused on his retinas. He groped blindly on the dressing table and finally located the comb. He gripped it like it might try to escape and yanked it roughly through his hair. He stared at the mirror without seeing his reflection.

After three painful tugs, George felt fingers close around his. "Let me do that," Fred said in a soft tone and George drew in a surprised breath. His eyes met Fred's in the mirror. "Yeah, not broken, apparently."

He pulled the comb through George's hair, starting at the ends to avoid tangles. George relaxed at the familiar feel and sighed appreciatively. Fred combed with one hand and rubbed soothing circles at the base of George's skull with the other.

Fred's fingers walked slowly down over the bumps of George's spine, leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind. The tines of the comb dragged across his head and the two sensations caused heat to pool deliciously in the pit of his stomach.

George's breath caught as Fred's hand left his back and curled around the side of his ribs to splay over his abdomen. The movement pressed him back against his brother and Fred's erection wedged against his arse, buffered by the thick towel. The combing stopped abruptly.

Fred nibbled the side of his neck in a distinctly non-brotherly fashion and his hand drifted upward until his fingers captured one of George's nipples. "What… What are you doing?"

"You look good enough to eat, George," Fred replied in a purring tone. "So I think I might."

George's eyes widened and met Fred's in the mirror. He had never seen such an expression on his brother's face before. It was riveting. George tried to speak and could not. Fred tweaked his nipple again and a shock of lust spiked through him like lightning.

"You always take care of me, Georgie," Fred continued. "Let me take care of you."

It wasn't until then that George realized the comb was back on the dressing table and Fred's other hand was sliding beneath the towel to draw light fingertips over George's half-erect cock, which grew fully hard under the onslaught.

Fred's mouth sucked lightly at his neck once more and George groaned when his brother said, "It will be just like wanking."

It was nothing like wanking. Fred's fingers were tantalising and hot and George never knew where they were going to go as they moved up and over the head and then wrapped around hard before pushing down and dragging back up in a rough but incredible stroke. Before he could do more than make a strangled moan, the towel had fallen away, revealing him completely to Fred's smouldering gaze in the mirror.

Fred turned him around gently and then pressed their lips together. George had kissed his brother countless times, but never like this. Fred's kiss was tentative at first, but when it met no resistance, he sucked eagerly on George's lips, first the bottom and then the top. His hand never stopped stroking and George was afraid he would come at the first brush of Fred's tongue against his own. He shivered and Fred pulled back to look at him through widening eyes.

"George? Do you want me to stop? I'm—"

At the growing look of panic on Fred's face, George's stasis finally snapped. He raised his arms and gripped his brother tightly, holding him in place. "Hush," he said soothingly, the way he used to when thunder would frighten his brother as they clung together in their creaking old room of the Burrow. "Hush, now. It's all right."

He placed a soft kiss on Fred's lips and then allowed his tongue to glide over them, tasting the residue of chocolate, a hint of the bitter potion, and something uniquely Fred. His brother sagged into him and then held him more tightly.

"Bed?" Fred asked in such a pleading tone that George would have walked through the fires of hell to hear it again.

"Yeah," he said and shuffled forward without releasing him. They tumbled sideways onto McGonagall's plush mattress, kissing passionately. Now that the floodgates had been opened, George could not seem to stop. His hands travelled over Fred, touching places both familiar and taboo as they lay side by side.

His fingers curved around Fred's arse and drew through the soft hair covering his testicles. He wondered if Fred's perineum was as sensitive as his own. He tickled the spot gently and was rewarded with a gasp and then a low moan.

George gave up any pretence of restraint and curled his fingers around Fred's throbbing cock. Fred's movements on his own becoming maddeningly urgent, building the pressure within him.

"Fred. Oh, Merlin, _Fred_," he said breathlessly as his brother's other hand crawled over his balls and circled the sensitive skin around his anus. George parted his legs without conscious thought, giving him access, rolling onto his back. Fred followed.

"Georgie. I want to be inside you," Fred murmured against his mouth, and heat shot through him at the very idea, especially with Fred's fingers circling and caressing his entrance.

For some reason, that sounded like the most brilliant suggestion ever. "Okay," he breathed and then gasped when Fred pushed one finger into him. It felt… strange.

"Okay?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, it's… Yeah."

Fred moved his finger experimentally and then pressed in another before George had quite adjusted to the first. He suppressed a cry, because it felt surprisingly tolerable. When Fred began to move them, it felt even better. George shifted downward, silently asking for more.

Fred made a sound of surprise.

"Please," George breathed.

Fred added another finger and George groaned. It should have hurt. It should have felt incredibly, extraordinarily wrong. It should _not_ have been such a turn on that George had to shut his eyes and think of Filch to keep from coming right then.

Fred twisted his fingers slightly and George thrust his hips upward, half-hating himself, but still wanting more.

"Merlin, George," Fred said.

"Fuck me, Fred" George demanded roughly. "Do it now."

Fred's fingers disappeared and George opened his eyes to find Fred's face hovering over his with an almost worried expression. His eyes were wide and dark as midnight. George forced a smiled and tangled his hand in Fred's hair before pulling him down for a kiss.

Fred's fingers slid out and then George felt another pressure that sought to take their place. He held his breath with anticipation. Fred's gentle kisses peppered his mouth. Slowly, ever so slowly, Fred's cock penetrated him, stretching and filling him beyond belief. It was indescribable.

"Okay?" Fred asked in an almost whimper. "Are you okay?"

In response, George rocked his hips once more, burying Fred so deeply that his testicles slapped against George's skin. George arched his back and nearly screamed at the sensation. Fred quickly pulled out, obviously alarmed, but George snatched his brother's hip and held them steady while he thrust upward, sheathing him completely once more.

"More," George panted. "More, _faster_."

Fred set his jaw with a look of determination and obliged. Bracing his hands on either side of George's ribcage, he began to pound into him, increasing the speed and intensity with every word that George could not seem to contain.

"Harder, Fred, fuck yes, faster, oh oh oh, harder…"

George's orgasm built like nothing he had ever felt. He thought a hurricane might be gentle in comparison. His fingers dug into Fred's hips, doubtlessly leaving bruises and George forced his brother to maintain the violent pace.

"So good, so good, Georgie," Fred panted. "Oh Merlin, I'm going to—"

The thought of Fred's come filling him was all it took. George's orgasm peaked and he did scream then, long and hard as he nearly arched completely off the bed with the force of his release. Above and inside him, Fred shuddered almost identically, except that he made no sound. His throat was a taut line and his wet lips opened wide, gasping for air. He thrust several times more, almost as if he couldn't stop, and then sagged over George like a dead weight.

They were motionless for long minutes with the sound of their breathing echoing in George's ears.

"Fuck," Fred muttered into his shoulder.

"Yes, I think you did," George said lightly.

Fred snickered and George felt hysterical laughter bubble in his own chest. _I just had mind-blowing sex with my own brother_, he thought. He choked the response back, not wanting to alarm Fred, who raised his head to look at him.

"Are you sorry?" he asked just as his softening cock slipped out and even _that_ was erotic as hell and George felt another stirring in his groin. He knew that once released, nothing would put the contents back into the forbidden box.

"You know what I think?" he countered.

"Hmmm?"

"I think I need another bath. Care to join me?" With that, he pulled Fred into another kiss, figuring if his actions had earned a special place in hell then at least he would have good company.

(This is the only Fred and George fic I ever wrote!)


End file.
